


The Wild Woods

by Kateaz220



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Romance, Sports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateaz220/pseuds/Kateaz220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know that after graduating from Hogwarts, Oliver Wood went on to join the Puddlemere United Reserve Squad. You may have even heard that five years later in 1999, a rising star named Wilda Griffiths was poached from the Holyhead Harpies to join Puddlemere United as a starting Chaser. What no one knows is Wilda's story, and how her story and Oliver's became inextricably intertwined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off the Squad

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is my first fanfiction so I really appreciate any feedback you can give me. While I originally decided to write this story about Oliver Wood and his finding romance, the character of Wilda Griffiths (a Pottermore canon character mentioned only once I believe), former Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies who was poached by Puddlemere United before mysteriously disappearing in the middle of a match, also really intrigued me. So while I do focus on her for a while, don't worry, Oliver will definitely come into it soon, and things will hopefully get really interesting between the two of them. I may change things about this story later. The rating may go up, and I have decided to add a crossover character of sorts. We shall see how this goes. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that are a part of the Harry Potter or Tortall universes, nor do I own the places or concepts borrowed from J.K. Rowling's outstanding books. This story is a transformative fair use of the works of J.K. Rowling and Tamora Pierce.
> 
> Any original characterizations, settings, or plot-lines (particularly the descriptions of Superior Village and the Superior School of Sorcery) are my own, and anyone is welcome to borrow them, though I would appreciate being credited.

           “No, you shut your stupid face!” Wilda bellowed at her captain. She was sick and tired of Jones and her pompous manner. Last time, she’d complained about Wilda’s outfits, saying they were too “ahem… American” in that smarmy tone of voice she had. What she’d really meant were that they were too casual. The Holyhead Harpies had a reputation to maintain; players didn’t just go around dressed in t-shirts and jeans, especially not to important social functions, like the All-Welsh Quidditch Convention they’d graced with their presence last month. Wilda would have paid good Galleons to see Jones try to sit on a broomstick in that trashy leather mini-skirt she’d worn to the convention. This time the argument wasn’t about clothes, it was about Wilda’s Quidditch playing: something that she took much more personally.   
  
           “Griffiths, sweetie, I’m sorry, but you’ve bloody well got to see that I’m right about this,” Jones continued in a condescending tone. “There’s no need to get upset about it. You’re just not that good of a Chaser. Honestly, the team could do better. You should be grateful that we’ve kept you on and trained you up all these years.”  
  
            Wilda fumed. She could hardly believe the words coming out of her captain’s mouth. She wouldn’t have believed them, but this was Gwenog Jones, the uber-bitch, and no depth of evil from Jones was unbelievable to her at this point.  
  
            “I’m not saying you can’t play in the next match,” Jones went on in a syrupy sweet voice that made Wilda want to gag. “I’m just saying that maybe, instead of spending so much time reading make-believe stories, you should take a little more time to practice your flying this week.”  
  
            “Anne McCaffrey novels are not ‘make-believe,’ they’re science fiction!”  
  
            “They’re American muggle-rubbish about dragons in space,” Jones snapped. “I’m not going to discuss this further, Griffiths.” There was nothing syrupy about her voice now. “Either you stop reading that crap in public, or I’m gonna burn the whole sodding lot of them while you sleep.”  
  
            Now they got to it, Wilda thought. That was the real point of Jones’ tirade. She hated anything that reminded the public that her star Chaser (and Wilda was a star, regardless of what Jones might say about her needing practice, and being “trained up”) was a common Muggle-born American import. She stared back at Jones defiantly, not trusting herself to actually speak at the moment.  
  
            “Now,” Jones continued after a long pause, switching back to her sweet voice. “I think you should go back to the dorm for the night, and we can discuss this further in the morning. I’m sure with a little reflection you’ll see reason.”  
  
            Wilda’s shoulders sagged and she sighed. The fight had gone out of her as suddenly as it had come on, and she felt like she just didn’t have the energy to continue arguing with her Quidditch captain tonight, or maybe ever again. Things were never going to be right between them. Maybe it was time to consider other options. “Fine,” she said at last, head down. Then she looked up for a moment, met Gwenog Jones’ hard brown eyes one last time. There was no give there, no flicker of kindness, of understanding. Not for Wilda. And now she finally accepted that there never would be.  
  
            When Wilda had first been recruited by the Holyhead Harpies from the Superior School of Sorcery’s varsity Quidditch team in her final year of school there, she had been ecstatic. She knew that the Quidditch leagues in the UK were much more competitive than those in the United States. Being the captain and best Chaser of a school team where most athletes would rather play the muggle sport: Hockey, or its wizarding variation: Extreme Broomball, was one thing. Playing a starting position on a real major league Quidditch team in Wales was quite another thing entirely.  
  
            And she’d loved playing for the Harpies. She had a blast at their matches, and got along well with most of the girls on the team. The only problem was Gwenog Jones. Wilda guessed that Jones had assumed she would be so grateful at being plucked out of obscurity and chosen for the Harpies that she would never dare question her captain. If so, Jones was sorely mistaken, for Wilda questioned just about everything and did things her own way, even when it infuriated Jones. If she was honest, lately she’d been doing some things for the express purpose of infuriating Jones, like wearing a t-shirt to that conference. She’d known that Jones would throw a hissy fit over that, but it was the little rebellions that kept Wilda feeling like herself. If she stopped going her own way and conformed into the stylish, mysterious, flirty (but not promiscuous), perfect little Welsh witch that Jones wanted her to be, then what would Wilda have left of herself and her past?  
  
            These were the troubled thoughts running through Wilda’s head on her trudge back to the team dormitory. The Holyhead Harpies were all women, so they shared a large dorm building with large, plushy bunk beds and soft carpeted floors. The rest of the team was out at a party tonight, so the dorm room was empty when Wilda walked in and plunked down in front of her own vanity (which she had converted into a desk). She sat for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror in front of her. Wilda saw what she always saw: a girlish face, pale with a few freckles around her nose and more sunburn on her cheeks and forehead; light brown eyes, not green enough to be called hazel, except in certain lights, and not dark enough to be described as chocolatey; and windswept shoulder-length nut brown hair. Nothing remarkable, nothing desirable. She knew from others that she had an attractive smile, warm, genuine, hinting at laughter. But Wilda wasn’t smiling now.  
  
            After a few minutes contemplation, she slowly opened the vanity’s top drawer and pulled out a large official-looking envelope. It had a seal of two crossed golden bulrushes over the opening, but the seal was broken. This envelope had already been opened and had its contents taken out and replaced many times since it had arrived two weeks ago. Wilda opened it up again now, and pulled out the letter to read again:  
  
   
_Miss Wilda Griffiths,_  
  
  
_It is a pleasure to write to such a distinguished player as yourself. My name is Mr. Arnold Rathbone, recruiter for the Puddlemere United Squad of the British and Irish Quidditch League. We have met before, though only briefly, after a match between my own Puddlemere United and your Holyhead Harpies last year. I, as well as the rest of the administration of this team, was most favorably impressed with your performance in that match, which I do not hesitate to admit led to your team’s victory on that day, and I have kept my eye on you ever since. It is clear that you are a rising star._  
  
_I would like to offer you a starting position as Chaser on the Puddlemere United Squad beginning this August. We are willing to pay you an advance sum of 1000 Galleons for the inconvenience of leaving the Holyhead Harpies at such short notice, in addition to relocation costs to get you settled here in England. You would be agreeing to a contract of two [2] years with Puddlemere United, at a yearly salary of 73000 Galleons._  
  
_Please think it over, and respond by owl at your earliest convenience. We are very excited by the possibility of having you join our Quidditch programme. I believe that Wilda Griffiths and Puddlemere United will be a great fit._  
  
  
_Mr. Arnold Ignatius Rathbone, Recruiter_  
  
_Puddlemere United Quidditch Programme_  
 _Poole, Dorset County, England, United Kingdom of Britain and Ireland_  
  
  
            Wilda hadn’t thought that she would ever respond to this particular letter. She didn’t want to abandon her team, and leaving them for another Quidditch team in the same league felt like a betrayal. But now… ‘It’s time I did what’s best for me,’ Wilda thought at herself sternly. She hesitated for another minute, then picked up her quill and a new piece of parchment, wetted her point in the inkwell, and began to write.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wilda takes a trip home to visit her family and friends before taking up her new position as Chaser for Puddlemere United.

“Gosh that was a long flight, wasn’t it Dad?”

“I can’t believe they wouldn’t let an old man like me take my shoes off on the plane.”

“Welcome home, Baby!”

“We’re so lucky she was so well behaved. Didn’t cry the whole time.”

“How long till the luggage gets here? You think they sent it somewhere else?”

“Oh my goodness, it’s so cold here! This is what you call summer?”

Wilda grinned, letting the snippets of muggle airport conversation rush over her and savoring the familiar voices and accents. She was finally home!

Since it was only the end of June when Wilda made the decision to leave the Holyhead Harpies for Puddlemere United, she had decided to take the opportunity to visit her family in Minnesota for the 4th of July, before heading on to England to join her new squad. Of course, she couldn’t apparate home all the way across the Atlantic, so she’d had to fly. Not that she minded really, though it’d been a long trip. She’d always liked flying, whether by broomstick or by plane.

When the luggage began to fall down onto the conveyor belt, Wilda patiently waited her turn before snatching up her big faded green duffel. Then she glanced around before making her way to the airport restroom, carrying her duffel and carry-on bag awkwardly. When she got inside the bathroom, she looked for a stall with no one occupying the stalls directly to either side of it. After shoving her way inside and getting herself positioned so that she could turn in a complete circle, she pulled her wand out of the front pocket of her carry-on bag and turned on the spot, vanishing.

After a brief spell of dark, cold nothingness, Wilda reappeared in the warm, shoe-cluttered entryway of her parents’ home. “Hello?” she called up the stairs. “I’m home!”

“Wilda’s home!” chimed her mom, rushing down the stairs to wrap her arms around her daughter.

“Hi, Munchkin,” her dad smiled down from the top of the stairs. “Come on up, I’ll get those bags for you in a minute.” Wilda set down her bags with a thud, and walked with her mom up the stairs to their living room. To her great surprise and consternation, her father wasn’t the only person up there waiting for her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi yourself, Wilda,” her ex-boyfriend Martin teased from his seat on the couch. “It’s so nice to see you too.”

Wilda turned to face her dad instead. “What’s he doing here?” Her dad just gave her a pained expression as though to say that he didn’t rightly know himself, nor was this his idea. It was her mom that answered.

“Wilda, be nice! Martin apparated in just before you did. He’s been just dying to see you!”

“I wish he’d just gone ahead and died then…” Wilda mumbled under her breath.

“What was that, honey?”

“Nothing, Mom. So, Martin, how’s everything going? How’s Leah?”

“Leah and I broke up. It was never serious between us. You know we only started dating because you moved to Wales.”

“Huh, and here I thought I was still around that day I walked in on the two of you in my dorm room.”

“It was Leah’s dorm room too, where else were we supposed to be? Besides, I knew you were leaving soon. And you’d been mentally checked out for a while already. I knew you were gonna leave me to become a sexy European Quidditch star and never look back.”

Wilda’s dad stood up. “I’m gonna go check the laundry,” he grunted, and hightailed it down the stairs, nearly tripping over the bags Wilda had left in the entry.

“Honey,” Wilda’s mom said in a soothing voice, possibly because she knew the expression on Wilda’s face, and wanted to forestall an explosion. “It’s not kind to hold grudges. Leah and Martin have been two of your closest friends for years. I just don’t want to see you lose each other over this silliness.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. Leah and I are cool. It’s just this bloody douche monkey I have a problem with.”

“Ew Wilda, you know I hate that word. And I really don’t think that ‘bloody’ and ‘douche’ should ever be used together.”

Wilda couldn’t help but giggle. “Yeah, I heard it after I said it.”

Martin stood up. “Well, I think I should go and let you get settled in. I just wanted to let you know that I really am sorry, and I’d still like to be friends. I’ll see you around later sometime.”

“I don’t doubt you will, no matter how hard I try to avoid it.”

Martin stood up, turned in place, and disapparated. Wilda sighed and called to her dad, “You can come up now! He’s gone!” She turned back to her mom, “I think he ought to be reported for apparating into a house full of muggles. What happened to the Statute of Secrecy?”

“But honey, you’re allowed to do magic around us.”

“I’m your daughter. You gave birth to me, and my magic.”

“I still wonder where you could have got that from. I’m sure no one on my side of the family ever had it. Maybe somewhere on your dad’s side…”

Wilda shrugged. “You know what Professor Zornea said, it happens all the time.” She went on, “Actually in the UK, they are a lot stricter about the whole Statute of Secrecy thing in general. And underage magic for that matter. Did you know that in Britain, muggle-born kids can’t even use magic around their own families? Of course, it’s not very enforceable once they’re over seventeen, but while they’re underage they have a kind of tracer on them to alert their Ministry if they do any magic! Isn’t that crazy? I’m glad our MC is a bit more laid back!”

“The Magicians’ Congress is more than a ‘bit’ more laid back than the European ministries,” said her dad, appearing at the top of the stairs. “They’re positively lax! Why, I was just reading this history of magical governance in Europe, and some of their policies seem positively medieval! Imagine imprisoning people on an island guarded by creatures that feed off fear! You better keep your nose clean while you’re living over there, Missy.”

“I will, Dad. You know I’ve come across a couple dementors in Wales. I guess a good lot of them are just living wild now that Voldemort’s gone. The British Ministry of Magic has been able to round up a bunch of them to place back at Azkaban, but the rest are still on the loose. I’m glad they’re not native to North America, awful creatures!”

"Well," said her dad pensively, "we've got wendigos, and they haven't got those in Europe, so maybe it evens out."

Wilda shuddered at the thought of the wendigos that lurked in the north woods, horrible half-human half-birdlike demon creatures that fed on human flesh.

“Can we please stop talking about such distressing topics right before bedtime?” Wilda’s mother whined. “Wilda’s had a long day of travel. I think she ought to get unpacked and go right to bed.”

“Your mom’s right, you’ve got a busy day tomorrow if you plan on meeting up with all your friends and visiting Superior Village.”

Wilda agreed, then followed her dad as he carried her bags into her old bedroom. She could have just zapped them there with a transporting spell, or levitated them, but her dad liked to do things like that for her. It made her feel like a little kid again, and glad that she was home.

The next morning, Wilda was up bright and early, bubbling with anticipation at the thought of seeing her old friends, and the village she had visited so many times during her school years. She got ready in a hurry, showering, doing her hair and makeup, and shouting “Accio purse!” as she skipped out into the living room. Her mom caught her before she could leave, poured her a cup of coffee, and made her sit down to eat a bowl of cereal. After that, Wilda kissed her mom and dad each on the cheek, then disapparated.

“What kept you?” Jake was asking before Wilda had even fully materialized at the lake shore.

“Geez Jake, give her a break! She just got off an international flight last night. She probably slept in!” That was Leah, sticking up for Wilda as usual. That is, when she wasn't stealing her boyfriend…

“Hey guys! I didn't even sleep in, I was so excited to see you and to get up here to the lake! My parents just slowed me up a bit, made me eat breakfast with them, you know.”

Leah wrapped her arms around Wilda and hugged her tight. “Do you still love me, Roomie?” she asked in a tight voice close to Wilda’s ear.

“Always, Roomie,” Wilda sighed back.

“C’mon, let’s go!” Jake hollered at the pair of them. “God, for an international Quidditch player you sure are slow, Wilda!” He grinned at her, to show he was joking.

Leah released Wilda and the three of them bounced forward to the lake’s edge, standing up to their ankles in the shallows, the frigid water of Lake Superior washing over their flip-flopped feet. “Do you still have your agate?” Leah asked, palming her own small shiny red gemstone. It was enchanted to allow Leah passage to the magical wizarding village under the lake.

“Yep, I’ve got it right here.” Wilda produced her own red-orange and banded stone from inside her purse. Jake was already holding his own rare blue agate out over the surface of the water. After taking another quick look around for muggles, the three friends held out their spelled stones and walked straight into the lake. 

The water was cold and wet up to their knees, but past that their bodies stayed dry, as though they walked through chilly gas rather than liquid. Once they were out as far as they could stand, they dove down beneath the dry waves and swam toward a light that suddenly appeared just ahead of them. All three of them reached the light at the same time, reached out to touch it, and felt the familiar sensation of being dragged forward at an incredibly high velocity down, down, down toward the dark bottom of the great lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that Oliver hasn't come into the story yet! I swear he will very soon. I just got so caught up writing about Wilda's life as a muggle-born from the United States. I promise Oliver will be introduced by Chapter 4 at the latest. In the meanwhile, I really hope you like my ideas about the wizarding world in the US. :)


	3. Superior Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wilda Griffiths and her old friends explore the magical Superior Village, Wilda catches her first glimpse of Oliver Wood, and a new friend is “found.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really fun to write since I was able to use a lot of creativity. I also really wanted to introduce a special crossover character into this story, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Extra super special awesome points to you if you recognize him!

Wilda’s eyes, which had been clenched tightly shut against the incredible velocity of the magical transport down to the lake bed, blinked open as she felt her body slowing, and finally coming to a jerky stop just before a great gate constructed entirely of lapis lazuli. It towered over the three friends, shimmering faintly around its swirling blue edges. The gate didn’t wait for them to regain their balance before it swung open, a burbling automated-witch’s voice intoning “Welcome to Superior Village, the only all-magic dwelling in the Midwest, and the first and still largest underwater magical community. The entrance to the Superior School of Sorcery can be found on the far eastern edge of the village. Please enjoy your visit!”

“I heard they’re working on a bigger one under the Mediterranean,” said Wilda, as they walked through the gates and into the magical village.

“Oh, I hope not!” replied Leah, sounding distressed. “Superior Village is Minnesota’s one magical claim to fame!”

“It won’t exactly hurt tourism here even if they do” interjected Jake seriously. “Most people who come to visit the village are from the Americas anyway, so they can mostly just apparate here. It’d be a hassle to go all the way to the Mediterranean.” 

“Well they’ll have to change that little welcome speech if it does happen. I don’t think it’s changed since I was a little kid” said Wilda.

“Yeah, it’d be weird,” Leah agreed.

“Hey look! The Lake Sharks are here signing autographs!” Jake broke in excitedly, pointing toward the main courtyard. Sure enough, a quidditch team dressed in blue and silver jerseys could just be made out over a crowd of fans snapping pictures and waiting in line to get things signed. “I’m gonna go see if they’ll sign my quaffle!”

“You brought your quaffle with you?” Leah snorted.

“Why didn’t you ask me to sign your quaffle?” Wilda feigned hurt. Jake ignored both of them and bounded away towards his favorite quidditch team, clumsily pulling a worn red ball out of his backpack as he ran.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me.” Wilda eyed her old friend, hoping things wouldn’t get awkward without Jake around to lighten the mood. 

“Wanna go to Starla’s?”

“Absolutely!” Wilda’s concerns dissipated, excitement at visiting her old school-day haunts rushing back in.

Starla’s was a charming nautical-themed coffee shop near the center of the village. As they headed towards it, pushing past the crowds still descending towards the quidditch players in the center of the courtyard, Wilda gazed about her fondly. The buildings were all constructed of polished stone, mostly in shades of blue, green, and gray, though every so often a building of bright red agate or shimmering quartzite caught the eye. The path they walked on was made of decorative gray cobblestones, interspersed with the tannish-yellow sand that made up the open space of the courtyards. 

People walked all around them, some hurrying to accomplish errands or make it to lunch dates on time, others, clutching coffee in one hand and shopping bags in the other, looked like they had all the time in the world just to shop to their hearts’ content. Still others were clearly identifiable as tourists, wearing bright colored t-shirts or exotic-looking wizards’ robes. The tourists were the slowest movers, blundering along without looking where they were going because they were too busy gazing up at the vast, shining, blue bubble-esque dome overhead, separating the village from the cold dark waters of the lake. Tall golden streetlights illuminated the village paths to nearly daylight levels of brightness, though the light still appeared somewhat odd and rippley as it reflected off the nearly black expanse of water above.

As Wilda and Leah walked into their favorite coffee shop, which was one of the few startling red stone buildings (it was constructed of jasper, though, not agate) to be found in the village center, a confusing babble of voices raised up to greeted them.

“Woah, what’s going…” began Wilda, before she was overwhelmed by the crowd of old school-friends, former quidditch teammates, and many more people she had never met before. They came forward and began talking to her all at once, some asking questions that Wilda couldn’t make out over the roar of talk, some patting her on the back, and some taking her picture from across the small establishment.

One voice broke out above all the others, “See, I told you she’d be here!” It was Martin, of course. He strode forward with a bold smirk on his pale, somewhat snub-nosed face. Wilda wondered briefly whether he had always appeared so unattractive, or if he had just been transformed in her eyes since their messy break-up.

“Martin?” Leah started, looking confused. “How did you know Wilda was in town?”

“I already saw her yesterday, at her parents’ house.”

Leah looked a bit hurt. “You saw Martin before you saw me?”

“Not by choice!” Wilda insisted. “He just turned up. Before I did, in fact!”

“Hey, don’t act like you didn’t actually want to see me. C’mon Wilda, you know you missed me. I heard you haven’t even dated anyone since you’ve been abroad.”

“Oh my gosh, I did NOT not date anyone because I missed you! In case you forgot, I was a little busy PLAYING QUIDDITCH! I wasn’t over there just to snog with hot British guys.”

“What’s ‘snog’?” Leah sounded even more confused. “I thought you were in Wales.”

Wilda ignored her friend, shoving around Martin and stomping toward the bar. The crowd had begun to settle down, most people making their way back to their own tables. Martin seemed to give up on harassing Wilda too, and went to sit back down with a group of SuSSo alumni from his and Wilda’s year. SuSSo, short for the Superior School of Sorcery, was located under Lake Superior as well, just under a mile away from the village. This made the village a hot spot for students on the weekends, as well as for alumni feeling nostalgic for their own school days. As Wilda and Leah, who had followed her up to the bar, waited to be served, Wilda nodded to her old quidditch team, indicating that she would join them once she had gotten her drink.

When each girl had a double caramel latte in hand, Wilda and Leah scooched into the booth to join the group of former SuSSo quidditch players. It was nice to see all her old teammates, even the ones she didn’t get along with so well when they were actually in school. Time apart and distance had definitely made the heart grow fonder. They all reminisced for a bit, had fun taking a few group selfies, and Wilda signed autographs for all of them, although it made her feel awkward. When the group finally started to disperse, Wilda left Starla’s in a much better mood than she’d been in upon arrival.

Leah and Wilda spent the rest of the day wandering through town. Wilda purchased souvenirs for some of her friends back in Wales, and decided on gifts of maple sugar candy and sachets of wild rice for her new teammates in England. Eventually they met back up with Jake, beaming with pride and showing off his faded red quaffle now covered with the signatures of all seven members of the Lake Sharks. As the three began to walk back towards the gate to leave the village, something caught Wilda’s eye: a huge moving poster partially visible through the window of Kate’s Quidditch Corner, the local quidditch supply store. 

The poster showed players in navy blue and gold robes, the colors of Puddlemere United, flying over a quidditch pitch tossing a quaffle around, apparently in training. She didn’t recognize most of the players, and realized that this must be a poster of the reserve team. They looked like a pretty quick bunch. More than one of them could probably play as starters someday. One player in particular caught Wilda’s eye. She saw windblown sandy brown hair as the player in Keeper’s robes dove exquisitely after the quaffle coming his way. As he caught it, he pulled up, and she caught a momentary glimpse of a wide toothy grin below a strong nose dotted with freckles, and brown eyes that sparkled with the exhilaration of flight. Wilda felt herself blushing and quickly turned away from the storefront. As she looked away, her eyes passed by the dumpsters at the side of the shop.

“What are you looking at?” Leah called. She and Jake seemed to have just noticed that Wilda had stopped walking, and they turned to look back at her.

“A cat!” exclaimed Wilda. For sure enough, just in front of the big green receptacle there stood a tiny black kitten, staring straight at Wilda with odd violet eyes. The poster and the boy that had so intrigued her disappeared from the young woman’s mind as she slowly moved towards the small beastie, hand outstretched, afraid of startling it under the dumpster. Instead of running away, the kitten trotted straight up to Wilda and mewed to be picked up. Wilda obeyed, holding it aloft and staring at its unusually colored eyes until the kitten squirmed uncomfortably and she held it down more naturally in the curve of her arm.

“Oh my gosh, it’s so cuuu-itttttte!” Leah squealed, making the word into two syllables.

“Does it have a collar?” Jake asked.

“Nothing,” said Wilda. “I suppose we’d better ask around to see if anyone’s heard about a missing cat anyways.” The three stayed for an extra hour, asking at various shops if anyone had heard anything about a lost kitten. No one had. When the street lights began to dim into a simulated night, they decided they’d done their best. Wilda had already decided: the cat was hers now. She’d wanted a pet for a long time, though she’d been hesitant to buy one because of her busy training schedule. Well, this cat had picked her, and she took it as a sign that she was meant to have him.

Exhausted from the long day, the three friends finally made their way out the massive gates. They looked more black than blue in the dimmer light. Wilda tucked the kitten into her bag for the trip back to the lake’s edge. Once they arrived, the real night sky blazing with stars and a beautiful full moon shone above them and over the lake. Wilda let the kitten out of the bag and it climbed intrepidly up to sit on her shoulder. All three young adults and the cat paused, staring up at the night sky for a minute, seeming reluctant to leave the fantastic scene. Slowly, they said their goodbyes with hard hugs, and then took turns disapparating. First Jake, then Leah, and finally Wilda stood alone on the rocky lakeshore under the immense night sky.

“We should be getting home too,” the kitten said from its post by her ear.

“Yes, I know…” Wilda trailed off, eyes growing wide. “Wait, did you… did you just talk?!”


End file.
